


A Dish Best Fucked Cold

by Island_of_Reil



Series: In Thrall [2]
Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Blood, Butt Plugs, Csevet is pretty when he cries, Dark Magic, Ear Kink, Face Slapping, Forced Orgasm, Gang Rape, Humiliation, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Overstimulation, Painful Sex, Revenge, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-01 15:27:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18803101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Island_of_Reil/pseuds/Island_of_Reil
Summary: “Come around the desk, both of you, and have a look at his face.”Csevet hung his head down as far as he could, resolutely staring at the carpet, though he knew it would be useless. Footsteps, right in front of him, and then a stunned silence. “Is’t…?” Ubezhar asked softly.A fist enmeshed itself in Csevet’s hair and yanked his head upward. “In sooth, it is!” Tethimar declared proudly. “Mer Csevet Aisava! Former whore to the entire courier fleet, current secretary to the emperor, also current personal seed repository and most entertaining playtoy to myself. And, now, to my dearest friends.”





	A Dish Best Fucked Cold

The rope was rough, its fibers abrading the delicate skin of Csevet’s wrists and ankles. The cloth Tethimar had shoved into and bound over his mouth was parching him dry. The edges of the desk in Tethimar’s study pressed uncomfortably into the vulnerable undersides of his limbs.

He closed his eyes in resignation. If these discomforts were the worst indignities visited upon him tonight — other than, of course, Tethimar violating him once again — this would be far from the worst of such nights.

“We hope we’ve made thee thoroughly comfortable, our sweet?” Tethimar asked with mocking faux-solicitousness. “Oh, we apologize, we quite forgot canst not answer us with words.”

Csevet’s entire body twitched as oil was dripped copiously upon his hole. It was cold, as it always was. Wide fingers worked copious dollops of it into him, taking their time, rubbing every inch of sensitive membrane within him, slicking the entire circle of muscle and the outer flesh around it. Tethimar knew Csevet’s nerves well enough by now: how to elicit an unwanted stab of pleasure, how to make Csevet squirm with ticklish irritation, how to press hard enough to make him whimper in pain. If Csevet attempted stoicism, Tethimar took that as a challenge. Csevet had long since given that strategy up as futile: Eshevis Tethimar was nothing if he was not persistent, and he would have not only Csevet’s body but, in time, whatever reactions from Csevet he desired.

When the fingers withdrew and did not return, he braced himself for the head of Tethimar’s cock. Instead he felt something equally blunt and smooth, considerably wider… and _cold._ Much colder than the oil. Fear shriveled the nascent cockstand that the jabbing of Tethimar’s invading fingers within him had provoked, and he whimpered more loudly into the gag.

“Shh, shh. We have every confidence in thine ability to take it. That tight little hole simply needs to be trained. Or perhaps retrained, as hast been out of the courier fleet for a bit now and art not taking a dozen cocks a night anymore. Or, at least, we presume art not.”

Whatever Tethimar was slowly easing into him broadened and broadened until Csevet’s insides felt full to bursting. He gulped as best he could behind the gag and, drawing upon the iron will that had sustained him through years of courier duty, forced his muscles to relax. Eventually the breadth began to taper, and then what felt like a base rested cool and flat against his hole.

“Very, very good,” Tethimar whispered, stroking Csevet’s unbound hair. The words, and the caress, did not feel mocking but genuinely admiring. Which was somehow worse. The … object pressed hard against Csevet’s inner nerves, reviving his cockstand. Though the pressure was not quite painful, his erection was. “Wilt be richly rewarded for thine ability to accommodate it. It shouldn’t be very long, now—”

The sharp rap on the study door made Csevet twitch hard again. He prayed to Salezheio that Tethimar would not be called away, for he did not trust the dach’osmer not to leave him in this wretched position for hours, even all night.

“Yes?” Tethimar called out, all traces of lust modulated out of his voice.

“Dach’osmer, your guests have arrived and are seated in the parlor. Would you care to greet them there?”

“No, Himar, show them into the study.”

“Dach’osmer,” came the muted acquiescence from behind the door.

Csevet had gone ice-cold at the word _guests,_ and at Tethimar’s reply he began to tremble. Tethimar chuckled and stroked his hair again. “Thou see’st? As we’ve told thee time and again, we know all thy secret, shameful needs, our darling, and we will never fail to fulfill them.”

The study door opened on well-oiled hinges. The manservant did not announce the names of the guests. Close intimates of Tethimar, or perhaps on a visit that necessitated discretion. Or both.

“Good evening, Eshev— what, ho! What have we here?” The familiar, plummy intonations of high Athamareise rank, but Csevet could not quite place the new voice. A noble who did not often attend court?

Tethimar chuckled indulgently. “Just a bit of entertainment I’ve arranged for tonight.”

“And a very pretty bit of entertainment it is.” Csevet recognized the next voice immediately as that of Dach’osmer Odris Ubezhar. A large hand with a cold, heavy ring upon it began to fondle Csevet’s buttocks, squeezing them roughly. “Especially with that enormous plug up his lovely arse. I’m glad hast thought to prepare him for a man of my dimensions, Eshevis, else I’d have rent him asunder on the first thrust.”

All three men laughed at the joke, and then Tethimar said, “Ah, but not _simply_ pretty and well prepared. Dost remember, Odris, Vodra, a certain night at Eshoravee some ten years ago?”

_Vodra. Count Solichel._

“So which of the little foxes is this one?” Ubezhar asked in a tone implying that any number of “little foxes” had been recaptured and arranged so upon this desk over the years. He continued to manhandle Csevet’s arse, now and again pinching Csevet’s inner thighs just to make him squirm.

“The one who bit like a badger and then somehow got away from us all.”

Solichel whistled long and low. “Gods! What a quarry, after all this time. Revenge is indeed a dish best eaten cold. Or, perhaps, fucked cold.” More laughter.

“Nor is that all!” Tethimar crowed. “Come around the desk, both of you, and have a look at his face.”

Csevet hung his head down as far as he could, resolutely staring at the carpet, though he knew it would be useless. Footsteps, right in front of him, and then a stunned silence. “Is’t…?” Ubezhar asked softly.

A fist enmeshed itself in Csevet’s hair and yanked his head upward. “In sooth, it is!” Tethimar declared proudly. “Mer Csevet Aisava! Former whore to the entire courier fleet, current secretary to the emperor, also current personal seed repository and most entertaining playtoy to myself. And, now, to my dearest friends.”

Solichel whistled again. “Gods,” he repeated. “Truly, Eshevis, art a consummate hunter.”

Ubezhar’s eyes narrowed. “Hold his head just like that a moment, Eshevis.”

“Why, art _that_ eager for his mouth?” Tethimar said, laughing again. “Take thy time with him: we’ve all night, and none of us is twenty any longer.”

“Oh, I’m content to wait for _that_. But not for this.”

Ubezhar moved fast, if not so fast that Csevet couldn’t see the blow coming. His head spun to the side, and the roots of his hair stung along with his cheek.

 _“That_ is for resisting thy betters all those years ago. We care not that thou servest — or, better put, servicest — that idiot hobgoblin who now sits the throne.” Solichel laughed scornfully at Ubezhar’s words. Ubezhar continued: “Art naught but a lowborn spunk-toy, and we will put thy pretty, gaping hole to its gods-ordained use tonight.”

“Balls of Anmura, Odris, as if I hadn’t already had a massive cockstand,” Solichel said, his voice thick and lascivious. Indeed, Csevet could see the shapes of all three of their cocks through their tight silk trousers.

Tethimar laid a possessive hand over Csevet’s hip. “Oh, we will absolutely do so. But first, I must show you, and him, the true nature of the plug I’ve fitted him with. For I purchased it — at very great cost, I should add — from Naloris of Ashedro.”

Csevet’s eyes widened. Naloris of Ashedro had once been Naloris Athmaza, a name he was forbidden by law to use any longer. By all rights the man should have at the very least been rotting in the Nevennamire; indeed, he was said to maintain no known address and to never be seen undisguised in public. But the dark arts he practiced were far too useful to the wealthy and unscrupulous, and it was an open secret that the Vigilant Brotherhood had been paid off to leave him unmolested.

“How the mighty have fallen,” Ubezhar drawled. “One would think it a rather lowly and vulgar use of his talents. Then again, given the rumors of his proclivities, perhaps it was a labor of love. What does it do, anyway?”

By way of reply, Tethimar spoke a word, loudly and crisply. Though Csevet had acquired a useful smattering of half a dozen languages in his years running messages and packages, he could not identify the word with any tongue he had ever heard before. Tethimar repeated the word again, and then a third time.

The plug within Csevet began to — began to _vibrate_ , and loudly so, like a pneumatic hammer-and-chisel staff with which workmen drove rivets or quarried stone. The vibrations were powerful, and Csevet’s body trembled with them; they rippled into his inner nerves and thus into his aching cock trapped against the desk. Over the noise he could hear grunts of appreciation from both Ubezhar and Solichel.

“And that is not all,” Tethimar said loudly, to make himself heard. He called out another unfamiliar word, again three times in crisp precision. The plug, with excruciating slowness, began to withdraw itself from Csevet’s body. He shuddered and whined in discomfort as the sheer breadth of it passed back out of him until it breached his hole from the inside.

 _“Gods,”_ Solichel gasped. “That little slip of a fox took that much plug? Hast trained him most marvelously to his purpose, Eshevis.”

“Oh, and he’ll take it again,” Tethimar said. He thrice repeated the newer maz, and once again the plug was pushing its inexorable way through Csevet’s sore, tender hole and distending his insides. Once it was reburied completely within him, Tethimar added, “And again.” Another repetition of the maz, and another slow, tortuous exodus of the plug.

For the next several minutes Tethimar continued to repeat the incantation, growing increasingly breathless in the doing of it. At first Csevet could hear Obezhar and Solichel panting over the hum of the plug as well. But the horrible, and horribly arousing, feeling of being stuffed beyond apparent mortal endurance soon deafened him to anything but the ungodly buzz and the rush of blood in his own ears. Tethimar had slicked both Csevet and plug so heavily, and the evil thing moved so slowly in and out of him, that it seemed unlikely to cause any internal rupture or laceration. But the pressure was overwhelming. Worse, the feel lay in that no man’s land between pleasure and pain that had always set Csevet’s pulse to racing. Even as Tethimar’s unwilling plaything, he could not stop himself from wriggling with each thrust and thrusting his cock against the top of the desk. And that was before Tethimar began to speak the maz sooner and sooner each time. Before long the plug was fucking so vigorously into Csevet he was all but pinned to the desk with each inward stroke.

He thought he heard the slap of flesh on flesh through the vibrations. Tethimar said, “Unhand thy prick, Solichel, thou’lt need it in a moment.”

“It had better be just a moment, Eshevis, else I’ll explode all over thy fine Edrethelemeise upholstery,” Solichel said, his voice distinctly strained.

“I’m not in much better condition, friends,” Ubezhar added with more composure but equally deficient patience.

“Just let him —” Tethimar said in between recitations of the maz. “Ah! I think — it should be — but a moment now —”

Indeed, Tethimar had grown to recognize the significance of Csevet’s slightest shudder and twitch. As the plug violently drove his orgasm from him, Csevet moaned into the gag. The moan did not cease, but continued, becoming more and more pitiful as the plug continued to fuck him at the same pace and with the same force, searing his hypersensitized nerves.

“Eshevis,” Solichel said, his voice starting to break. “I can’t—”

“All right, all right,” Tethimar said with exasperation, and he spoke two mazeise words. The vibrations ceased at once, and the plug whisked itself with brutal speed and an obscenely viscous noise out of Csevet’s body for the last time.

He sobbed behind the gag, but his relief was short-lived. Though Solichel’s cock was though only a modest intrusion after the monstrosity of the plug, the young count plunged ungently into him, further inflaming his tender inner flesh. Painful jolts of sensation shot down into his own cock, which attempted to twitch back to life beneath him, and his balls ached with strain. His belly stuck and unstuck to the desk in his own drying seed as Solichel’s thrusts bounced him up and down.

Rough as he was, thank Salezheio that Solichel seemed uninterested in prolonging Csevet’s agonies: he got to the vinegar strokes within two minutes, made ill-bred-sounding strangled noises, and collapsed panting upon Csevet’s back. Csevet could smell metheglin on his breath.

“My turn,” Ubezhar said hoarsely. Solichel groaned in reply but did not hasten to move. Then he yelped, as Ubezhar must have seized him somehow. His weight was lifted off Csevet’s back, and his fully softened prick slipped from Csevet’s hole. Csevet could hear the muffled stumble of his boots on the carpet.

“Now then.” The cockhead breaching Csevet’s entrance was far, far wider this time, and Ubezhar did not rush in seating himself deep inside, though neither did he bother to be gentle. Csevet whined at the newest assault on his nerves, his eyes beginning to prickle for the first time this evening. “Yes, yes, pet, we know, Vodra did not fuck thee properly,” Ubezhar said. “Not that he’s equipped for such a thing to begin with. We’ll make very sure thou feel’st the fullness of our prick clear up to thy kidneys.”

Tethimar laughed at that, and he stepped in front of Csevet again. Csevet wondered — hoped — that Tethimar would take his mouth, rather than taking his arse after all the abuse it had suffered tonight. Instead, Tethimar began to stroke his hair again. “Shh, shh, little one,” he crooned. “Let us make this more pleasurable for you.”

With surprisingly gentle and deft fingers he began to stroke Csevet’s fallen ears, the sensitive insides and the even more sensitive tips. Each touch went straight to Csevet’s cock, which was as hard between his belly and the desk as it had been earlier and which throbbed painfully with every scrape of Ubezhar’s cock within him. Torn between dire agony and hateful pleasure, he could no longer keep his tears from coursing down his cheeks.

“Ah, art ever so pretty when thou criest,” Tethimar said with a broad smile, thumbing the tears away.

“I must be making him weep with joy,” Ubezhar grunted.

“Of course thou art. Wouldst _thou_ not weep with joy, with the three most proficient cocksmen of Thu-Athamar attending to thine intimate needs?”

Ubezhar’s next grunt ended in a scoff. “Well. Two of them. Two and a half if I’m feeling generous.”

“Hey!” Solichel shouted from across the room. Csevet could hear him pouring himself a fresh glass of liquor.

“Know’st it to be true, Vodra,” Ubezhar panted, his long nails biting cruelly into Csevet’s hips as he began to speed up his thrusts. “Gods, how is he so deliciously tight after thou reamed’st him with that plug, Eshevis? Even I can’t measure up to that thing. Did it magically sew him up inside again, like the virgin in the tavern-tale?” Tethimar laughed at that.

Csevet’s nose had started to congest. He forced himself to stop weeping, not trusting any of the three men to ungag him if he could no longer breathe properly. Ubezhar appeared to be almost done with him, he consoled himself. It took longer than he had hoped for, a dozen and a half more brutal thrusts rather than just a few, but at last the lord uttered a guttural _unnnhhh_ and withdrew. Csevet could feel Ubezhar’s and Solichel’s combined seed seeping out of his hole and sliding down the creases of his buttocks and his inner thighs.

“Now there’s an even prettier sight than before,” Ubezhar said lecherously. “What a beautifully ruined fox-hole, so red and puffy and dripping with spunk. There’s even a little blood! Thou shouldst commission a portrait painter to capture it, Eshevis, and hang it over the hearth.” Solichel laughed from across the room.

“I should, should I not? But first, I must put the final touches on its ruination.”

Tethimar, Csevet knew, was not as grotesquely large as Ubezhar was; still, he was quite well-endowed. On a normal evening, for a mercy, Csevet could accommodate him with little pain. His first thrust into Csevet was not even especially rough. But Csevet screamed into the gag.

“Oh, sweetling,” Tethimar said, as if to a colicky michen. “Hast been such a delightful fuck tonight. We think hast richly earned a second spending. Odris, come around to his front again and suck his ears.”

The tips of his ears in Ubezhar’s hot, wet, and surprisingly skillful mouth wrested long, muffled whines from Csevet as the sensation went straight to his cock. At any moment he expected a sharp bite to the delicate cartilage, but Ubezhar appeared to share Tethimar’s interest in humiliating Csevet with another unwanted climax. Despite the red glare of pain that consumed his lower body, it was only moments before he cried out into the wad of cloth as he spilt upon the desk once again.

Ubezhar laughed lewdly. Tethimar laughed as he panted. Csevet keened into the gag. No longer could he think, nor wait, nor pray: he felt as though he had been reduced to one quivering, abraded nerve. His consciousness admitted only the faintest feeling of relief as Tethimar pulled out of him, and then he felt a hot stickiness splatter across his buttocks as Tethimar groaned.

“There,” Tethimar gasped. “The finishing touch. Wouldst care to admire it, Odris? How about thee, Vodra?”

Ubezhar stepped around to Csevet’s rear again, and Csevet could hear Solichel rise from the sofa to join him and Tethimar. “Ooh. Yes. Thy seed across his arse completes the picture quite nicely,” Ubezhar remarked.

Csevet closed his flooded eyes. It was over. And tomorrow was his day off. Soon, Himar or some other discreet manservant would untie his ropes and help him off the desk and into his clothes. Csevet would not return straightaway to the Alcethmeret, where his limping might give his shameful secret away, but would seek out an old friend of his in outer Cetho, a cleric of Csaivo, for a bath with healing herbs and a special mazeise salve…

“And we shall all enjoy that picture for the next few hours,” Tethimar declared. Csevet could feel the desk vibrate gently as one of its drawers was pulled open and something was retrieved from it. “Three-card brag, boys.” There was the sound of cards being shuffled from hand to hand. “I’ll ring for Himar to bring us some bread and meat. And once I’ve won the trousers off you both, we can all have another go at our lovely little fox.”

Both Ubezhar and Solichel made exclamations of agreeability. “His mouth is quite unused, after all,” Ubezhar said.

“Did I say,” Tethimar asked, his voice crackling with malice, “that either of you was limited to the use of his mouth?”

Once more, Csevet began to silently weep.


End file.
